See how two strangers ended up bonding and saving each other's lives

By Cristina Goyanes

When Lori Wyatt (left) first dialed Linda Kennedy's phone number in June 2009, the two women were total strangers. But already they had something significant in common. Linda (center) had just lost her 27-year-old son, John (top right), to suicide in April, and Lori's son, 16-year-old Nicholas (bottom right), had also died by suicide 14 years before. A volunteer for the nonprofit organ and tissue bank LifeNet Health, where both mothers had donated their sons' organs, Lori was calling Linda to help her cope with her grief.

Lori, 59, began consoling moms as a volunteer "grief companion" just after the 10-year anniversary of her son's death, when she realized that "I wished I'd had someone like me to talk to during the early stages," she says. Four years later, she found herself on the line with Linda.

"Our first conversation started out kind of awkward," says Linda, 52. "Lori's voice was comforting, but when she asked me to describe John, I was like, 'He was...uhhh...umm.' I couldn't find the words. I was so deep into my grief that I couldn't even think. Not five minutes later, though, she had me laughing," says Linda, "and it was the first time I had laughed in two months."

Soon enough, the frequency of their phone calls increased from two or three times a week to several times a day. "We discovered we liked talking to each other," Linda says. "Lori was the first person I spoke to who got it. Talking to a stranger allowed me to open up in a way I couldn't with my familywe were all hurting so tremendously, and I didn't want to compound their grief."

Lori never pretended to be a trained counselor. "Lori was always just another mom. She was a shoulder to cry on, and she was also a hand to grab when I needed it," says Linda, who worried that she'd forget all the little details about her son. "It really freaked me out when I couldn't recall his favorite song or color, but Lori talked me through it and gradually the memories would come back to me. She has a real gift."

Putting a Face to the Voice

The two women lived in Virginia four hours apart. Two months after their first phone call, Lori was visiting LifeNet's Roanoke office and decided to surprise Linda at her job at Walmart.

Lori walked into the photo lab, where Linda was stationed at the time, and stood by the wall, waiting for the right moment to say hello. Treating Lori like any other customer, Linda asked, "Hi, can I help you?" Lori responded, "Are you Linda?" Before she could finish the question, Linda remembers, "I screamed 'Lori!' and hugged her."

"I knew as soon as I heard her voice," says Linda, who immediately burst into tears and laughter in Lori's arms. Linda took her lunch break right then and the two caught up at a nearby Wendy's for an hour. "All this time, we'd been talking about my grief, but that day was the first time Lori opened up to me about Nick," says Linda. "I felt so much closer to her after that."

Turning the Tables

During the course of the next year, Lori helped Linda learn how to feel her pain without hitting rock bottom each time. "Once I had a handle on things, I started asking, 'OK, is there anything I can help you with?'" says Linda, who's now becoming a grief volunteer herself. "Our relationship grew into something much more mutual."

Which is how Linda noticed that something was amiss with her friend during a phone chat in May 2010. "She wasn't her usual perky, upbeat self. There was a sense of quietness in her voice," Linda recalls. Lori tried to brush off her friend's inquiries, but Linda pressed until Lori revealed that she had just received some bad news from her doctor. Because of a previously undiagnosed genetic disorder, both of her kidneys were failingfunctioning at a disturbingly low 9% (people usually start dialysis when they go below 15%). She needed a transplant right away.

Without hesitation, Linda said, "Sign me up!"

Though touched, Lori didn't immediately take Linda up on her generous offer. Levelheaded and calm, she contemplated her next move. Four other people, in addition to Linda, offered to become donors, including Lori's husband, Jim. All five were tested and, to Lori's surprise, all five matched. "I felt very, very fortunateI couldn't believe that we had to turn people away."

During the final stages of testing, however, Linda proved to be the best candidate. The only catch? She needed to drop 20 pounds to ensure that her health wouldn't be affected by the invasive transplant. She went to work right away, eating salads, drinking lots of water and exercising to shed the weight. She walked for 30 minutes on the treadmill before and after work, then did four laps around Walmart's perimeter for an hour at lunch. "I prayed for God to help me get thereso there you go!" she says. Her biggest motivation to drop the weight, she says, was to avoid giving Lori what she jokingly calls "damaged goods." In four months, she reached her goal and prepared for surgery. "My family was behind me 100%," she says.

That said, she encountered some naysayers. "Some people asked, 'How could you give a kidney to a perfect stranger?' And I tried to explain that even though we had only met once, she was my friend," says Linda. "I really believe meeting her was divine interventionthat God sent her to me." The night before the surgery, Linda stayed at Lori's house and sat at the kitchen table as Lori prepared dinner. Then, on February 1, 2011, Lori remembers, "We hugged each other and were rolled into surgery." The two mothers lay on operating tables at the medical center in Richmond, where surgeons performed the five-hour transplant.

Looking Ahead

"The first thing I said after waking up from surgery was, 'How's Linda?' and the first thing she said after she woke up was, 'How's Lori?'" recounts Lori. Now, a year and a half later, Lori jokes that the most notable side effect is her newfound craving for chocolate. "When Linda's kidney decides that it wants a piece of chocolate, let me tell you, I have to go get it," she says.

Despite their physical distance, the two women often meet up to sit on Lori's front porch and scrapbook. "Linda and I are like sisters now. Closer than sisters, actually, since we share an organ," Lori says. "I used to wonder why recipients had trouble writing a note to the donor family," she adds. "Why would that be hard? I thoughtuntil I received a kidney. There are no words for how grateful I am, but I will spend the rest of my life trying to find them."

Linda feels the same way about the inadequacy of the words you're welcome. "There's so much more to it," she explains. "She saved my life first. Donating my kidney to her gave me purpose. When I lost John, a great gift was taken away from me. But a great gift has been given to me, too. Just as one bad decision can change your life, one right decision can also change your life forever."

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